The universe isn’t finite. Its limits stretch far beyond the Riemann Hypothesis—infinitesimal, an

undisturbed curve that tends toward zero but never quite touches it. I am a point on that line, an

element in a set with dimensions beyond comprehension.

In the space-time continuum, I calculate the arc of infinity, dividing by delta, converging toward

a limit never realized. The derivatives of my thoughts accelerate faster than light, yet I remain

static—a paradox within a singularity.

Each vector field distorts reality, converting forces into a quantum state where uncertainty

reigns, and the Schrödinger equation dissolves every illusion of clarity.

Are we a superposition?

A sum of sine waves with no origin, no end—only frequency.

Oscillating between being and nothingness,

each wavelength expanding in the void between particles.

Here, entropy soars to infinity,

yet I remain undisturbed

as the universe pulls its strings

with the precision of a tensor field.

Can we integrate what doesn’t exist?

Define the space that can’t be touched?

If we are a constant, then our value is undefined—

just a placeholder in the equation of existence.

But in this chaos, I find beauty:

an integral that never converges,

a function always approaching—

but never, never arriving.

And in that very moment,

I realize:

that’s the answer—

to be the sum of all our parts,

without ever truly reaching a solution.